


Intermediary

by Dragongoddess13



Series: AU Fest [8]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ghost Whisperer AU, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Murder Mystery, cop gendry, medium arya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23752204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragongoddess13/pseuds/Dragongoddess13
Summary: Gendry Waters refused to believe that anyone as intelligent as Captain Davos Seaworth would actually believe in psychics.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: AU Fest [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709878
Comments: 139
Kudos: 287





	1. Toll The Dead

#8

Ghost Whisperer AU

Gendrya

xXx

“ _Please_ tell me you’re joking.” 

Gendry watches his Captain, looking for any sign of deception. He find none. He was either a much better liar than anyone gave him credit for or he was telling the truth. Every ounce of him hoped it was the former, because Gendry Waters refused to believe that anyone as intelligent as Captain Davos Seaworth would actually believe in psychics. 

Davos sighs looking pained. It did little to alleviate Gendry’s concern. “I don’t know what to tell you, Waters. All I know is this case is going nowhere fast. I’ve got the commissioner, the mayor and the media breathing down my neck. They all want answers and they want them yesterday.”

“Okay, but a psychic? We usually turn those people away unless the family insists.”

“I know, it’s crazy.”

“So what’s so special about her?”

“I don’t know, but the nineteenth precinct swears by her. Apparently she helped solve that triple in the market district last year.” 

“How?” 

“Jon Stark said one of the victims told her who did it.” Davos explaines sounding about as confident in the statement as Gendry did the entire situation. 

“And it never occurred to anyone that she might just be observant, noticed things the detectives didn’t?” 

“It did, that’s the first thing they looked into after ruling her out as a suspect. Jon is her cousin and he swears that he did everything in his power to keep his cousin away from police work.”

Gendry takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “So this is where we’re at now? Magic and mysticism?” 

“You know what, if it helps us catch a brutal killer, then yes, that’s exactly where we are.” Davos stands up. “Now, she’s waiting for us in the break room.” 

Gendry isn’t sure what he expected. Most of the people who come through the precinct claiming to talk to the dead were eccentrics of the highest degree. With crystals hanging from their neck and baubles that dared to be called earrings, they looked like they just walked out of a Scooby-Doo cartoon. This girl, this woman, however, looks like she belongs in a mug book. Ripped jeans, boots and a halter top; rings on every finger and a black leather jacket over her knee. She sits tense in her chair, her leg bouncing impatiently and her eyes darting off to the corner of the break room every so often. 

“Miss Stark.” Davos says, drawing her attention. She stands abruptly, accepting the hand he holds out to her. “This is Detective Sergeant Gendry Waters. We just want to thank…”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she cuts him off. “I don’t mean to be rude, but the only reason I agreed to help is because Detective Stark said he could get some charges dropped, so can we just… get on with it.” 

Davos hesitates. “Uh, yeah, sure. What do you need from us?” 

“Jon sent me a copy of her picture and I don’t see her here, so the most likely scenario is that she’s stuck at the last place her body was.” she explains. 

Still feeling skeptical, Gendry resists the urge to roll his eyes. “And if she’s not there?” he asks. 

For the first time since they’d met her, she looks at him. Her sharp silver eyes, for lack of a better word, are haunted, full of fear and apprehension that he had only ever seen on victims who managed to survive. All of that, however, is hidden behind a thin veil of defiance and bad temperament. 

“Then she’s either stuck in the place she was murdered, attached to her killer or she had no unfinished business and moved on.” 

“Moved on where?” he asks without thinking, his tone combative. He feels Davos tense beside him and immediately resists the urge to cringe, recognizing how rude he sounds. The fact of the matter is, he isn’t any closer to believing any of this. 

“I don’t know, I’ve never died before.” she replies, not appreciating his tone. 

“The ghosts don’t tell you?” he asks, again resisting the urge to cringe as he continues to dig himself into a hole. He can see Davos out of the corner of his eye, arms crossed giving Gendry a look that promised fiery retribution for his bad attitude. 

“I’ve never seen anyone who’s gone through, come back.” she explains. “So no. No one knows for sure until they walk through and by then it’s too late.” 

Gendry was sure he still looked skeptical, but he didn’t push anymore. Davos took the opportunity presented by the silence to speak up. “Waters, I want you to take her to the crime scene. Stay close, eyes open, even if she doesn’t see anything, you may find something that was missed.” 

“Yes sir.” 

Davos walks away, still tense and most likely regretting leaving them alone together. He turns to her when he's out of sight. She was staring into the corner again, appearing uneasy. A fact that, skeptic or not, made him uneasy. 

“Ready?” he asks, drawing her attention. 

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” 

xXx

Kathy Hartenly was found, drained of blood with surgical precision, in an area of King’s Landing Park’s back woods, right along the city limit line. She was laid out on her back, dressed in an old white victorian nightgown tailored to fit her, her hands placed carefully over her chest. Her eyes were closed and her skin had been so pale from blood loss that the hiker who found her thought she was a sculpture. A silver chain with an ornate cross was woven between the fingers of her hands, lying perfectly beneath them as if hanging, frozen in time. 

Forensics found nothing. No footprints, no fingerprints, no foreign fibers or hairs. There was nothing left with her body, no indication of motive or where she had been between the time she was last seen leaving work at two in the morning and the morning she was discovered. Toxicology showed she had been drugged, though they could only rule out injection on method of administration. There was nothing in her stomach, no marks on her wrist and ankles to show she had been restrained and the coroner was unsure if she had been assaulted sexually, but he leaned toward “no”. 

The woods were as unassuming as woods in October could be. Her body was found in a tiny clearing where park officials had marked up signs to warn people they were leaving city limits and once through the clearing another stretch of trees lay beyond, continuing on into the next county in all directions, stopping only to make way for roads and buildings. 

“Do you see anything?” Gendry asks. He's trying to be less judgmental. He can’t promise he'll succeed, but he is trying. The drive over and then the walk from the car had been quiet and Gendry got the feeling she was about as thrilled to be doing this as he was to be tasked with escorting her around. It was strange really. Of all the self proclaimed psychics he had met she wasn’t anything like them. From what he could tell she didn’t do this for money or fame, there was no desire to capitalize or show off. She made it very clear she wanted to get this over with as soon as possible and return to her life, like all of this was an inconvenience she couldn’t avoid despite every effort to. 

“No.” she replies. “Did she have any problems with people? Family, boyfriend, girlfriend?” 

“No, she was well liked. No one could even name a reason someone would want to hurt her. And she didn’t date apparently, so no significant other.” Gendry explains. 

She sighs, scanning the trees around the clearing. “Well, then she probably moved on without unfinished business.” 

“You don’t think a brutal murder counts as unfinished business?”

“Depends on the person. From what I’ve seen, violent deaths usually leave a spirit unaware of what happened and they get drawn into the light before they can remember. Some are confused and wander away from it until they remember and then move on and others still decide to stay even after they remember.” 

“Hmm, interesting.” he replies. 

“You have a weird definition of interesting.” she tells him, stopping her slow perusal facing north toward a field of dirt that looks to have been salted to keep the grass from growing. 

“You don’t find this interesting?” he asks. 

“Not really.” she says. “Do you see anyone else here?” 

Gendry looks around. “No… Do you?” 

“Yes, it’s not Kathy though. Are there any other deaths like hers?” Arya questions, still staring at the tree twenty yards in front of them. 

“No, not from what we’ve been able to find. Why?” 

“The woman, she’s dressed the same way.” she starts walking toward the tree line. Gendry keeps up with her. “She’s wearing the necklace though, not holding it. The dress is all dirty too, like she was…” Arya stopped short, looking up at him. 

“Like she was buried?” he asks. She nods. “Can you… talk to her?” 

“I can try, but just because she’s watching us doesn’t mean she wants to talk.” 

Arya keeps walking, stopping just short of the tree line. 

The woman is about Arya’s height, black hair, and blue eyes so light they were nearly grey. Her complexion is pale, almost identical to Kathy’s. “Did you see what happened here two weeks ago?” she asks. 

“Yes.” the woman replies simply. When she doesn’t elaborate Arya continues. 

“Did the same thing happen to you?” 

“Yes. She called us evil.” she says. 

“She?” Arya startles. “A woman did this to you?” she glances at Gendry who looks just as startled. Then it occurs to her. “Wait.. Us?” The woman doesn’t answer, turning and walking back into the dirt field. “Wait, don’t go!” she calls after her. Instinctively she follows, passing between the trees and into the field. Gendry is right behind her, nearly colliding with her as she stops short. He grabs her shoulder, stopping her from falling backwards. 

“Arya?” he questions. He maneuvers around enough to get a look at her face, taken aback by her horrified expression. “Arya? What is it?”

Her voice is soft, he almost misses her reply. “There’s so many of them.” tears in her eyes. She takes in a shaky breath, pushing him away as she turns and runs back through the trees, just out of sight. Moments later he can hear her throwing up. 

“Shit.” he curses under his breath. He scans the field, stepping further in. He had clocked the relative area she had been staring into, and carefully picks his way through the dirt mounds toward it. When he gets about thirty yards from the tree line she calls out behind him. 

“There!” she says, and he turns to find her pointing to the ground at his feet, leaning heavily on a tree. Pulling a glove from his pocket he crouches down, shifting the dirt around. He doesn’t find anything, but while he is crouched low he catches sight of something further to his left. He walks toward it, crouching down again and doing the same as before. Unlike before, however, he finds something. Just below the top layer of soil he finds the thin boney fingers of a pale decaying hand. The skin is mottled and purple along the knuckles and several joints appear broken. 

“Fuck.” he breathes, reaching back to pull the radio from his belt. “1-1-9 to dispatch, come in.”

_“Dispatch to 1-1-9, go ahead detective.”_

“Dispatch I’ve got a 1-40 at the city line in King’s Park woods, about three miles west of hiking checkpoint two. Possibly multiple 1-40s. I need back up, ESU, the medical examiner and a cadaver dog down here immediately. I’m here with a civilian contractor.” 

_“Copy that 1-1-9. Attention all units, one confirmed 1-40, possible multiple 1-40s at the city line in King’s Park woods, three miles west of hiking checkpoint two. Requesting back up, ESU, medical examiner and Cadaver search units. Be advised one detective and a civilian contractor are on scene.”_

With the call put out, Gendry returns to the clearing where Arya is waiting, leaning against a tree. It takes him a moment to realize she's talking out loud, and without thinking, he ducks behind a tree peeking out enough to see her. He can’t hear her at first, but whoever she's talking to- and she has to be talking to someone, there was no way she had found all of this on her own- was clearly bothering her. 

“No!” she exclaims suddenly. She pauses, taking a deep breath. “No, I’m not telling him anything. I’m not a _fucking_ phone operator.” she sighs. “I’m sorry, just find someone else.”


	2. The Bartender

Intermediary

Chapter 2: The Bartender

xXx

Gendry is getting a headache. He can feel it building behind his eyes. It’s been a very long day and it isn’t looking like it would end anytime soon. “We found twenty-seven bodies between the first and second quadrants of the field. There are three more quadrants being searched at the moment.” Gendry explains. Captain Seaworth leaning on the conference table, scanning the whiteboards Gendry is tacking pictures and making notes on. “Coroners preliminary field report shows that everyone is female, caucasian, slight in build and they were all most likely killed the same way as Kathy Hartenly.” 

Davos sighs. “From one body to twenty-eight.” he glances through the window out into the bullpen where they can see Arya sitting at Gendry’s desk. Flipping through files. “What do you have her doing out there?” 

“She’s looking through missing persons files. She said they were all women of various ages, but they all looked pretty much the same. Dark hair, eyes light enough to be considered grey, fit build and they were all dressed in the same white victorian nightgowns. And then there’s the necklaces.” Gendry turns to face Davos as he speaks, coming to stand beside him where the original case file is sitting open. He picks up the evidence photo of the necklace. “She says they were all wearing one. All of them are identical.” 

“What did Payne say about the necklace?” 

“He thinks it was handmade, like the gowns. Either from a boutique or the killer made it herself.” 

“Her?” Davos asks, surprised. 

“Arya claims the woman she talked to said ‘She called us evil’.” 

Davos looks away disgusted. “Well that would explain the crosses at least.” 

“And possibly the white gowns.” 

“How so?” 

“Well their modest and white is considered a symbol of purity. If this a religious thing it would make sense that the killer is trying to cleanse these women of sin.” 

Davos takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “That makes sense. That really shouldn’t make sense.” 

Gendry hums in agreement, tacking the photo up onto the whiteboard. 

“So,” Davos speaks up. “Can I assume you’ve been converted into a believer?” Gendry can’t miss the teasing lilt to his voice. He turns an unamused glare on his boss, then thinks better of it and sighs. 

“Look, I’m not saying she’s legitimate, but one of the bodies we found, she pointed directly at it and it was nearly three feet below the surface. She wouldn’t have seen any sign of it with the naked eye. Hell I was  _ standing  _ on it and couldn’t see anything.” he shakes his head, stepping back and leaning against the table beside Davos. “All I know is if she’s not, she should be playing the lottery with that kind of luck.” 

“I can definitely see why Jon was so insistent we use her.” 

“Yeah, about that. She said she only agreed because Jon agreed to get some charges against her dropped. Do you know what she did?” 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Davos replies, gesturing through the windows. Gendry turns to see said man heading their way. 

“I hear your single homicide turned into a serial.” Jon says as he steps into the conference room. 

“Yeah, we have your cousin to thank for that.” 

“Did she really find all of those girls?” he asks. 

“She pointed us toward the field. Talked to one of the girls apparently.” 

“She never ceases to amaze me.” 

“Hmm.” Davos hums. “And what about these charges you supposedly promised to have dropped?” 

“Oh yeah, she broke someone’s nose at work one night a few weeks ago. Truth be told we were already going to drop the charges. Several witnesses came forward to say she was defending herself. I may not have told her that though, I was really hoping she could help.” 

“Well, I don’t know if I would call this help.” Gendry replies. Jon huffs. 

“Yeah, well, here’s hoping there’s something else she can do.” 

As if on queue, Arya appears at the door, knocking quickly before poking her head in. “Hey, I need to get home and get ready for work.” she says, holding out a stack of files for Gendry. He takes them, flipping through quickly. There are about five. “Those are who I could recognize so far.” she tells him. 

“Thank you. Can you come back tomorrow?”

“Yeah, no problem. I should be in around noon.” She steps back from the door and Jon moves toward her. 

“I’ll walk you out.” he tells her, stepping out after her. “How are you getting home?” is the last thing they hear as Jon closes the door behind him. 

xXx

Arya steps through her front door, closing and locking it behind her. She drops her jacket on the coat tree, and stomps up the steps, her thick leather boots weighing down her steps. The third step from the top creaks as she lands on it, but after living in this old victorian fixer upper for nearly six years, she’s used to the sound and pays it no attention. At the top of the stairs she takes note of the hallway and any changes that may have occured while she was gone. When she finds none, she continues to the end of the hall, stripping off her clothes as she steps into the master bedroom. She quickly gets a shower and changes into a pair of black jeans, and a plain black t-shirt with the name of the bar she tends at embroidered over the pocket. 

After slipping her shoes back on and grabbing her bag, she heads back down stairs, putting her coat on and leaving. It's a twenty minute walk from her house to the bar and as she steps into the bar through the back alley door, she’s greeted by her boss. 

“Hey little wolf, you look exhausted, love. Rough day?” Ygritte Stark asks, standing, looking up from the inventory sheet she’s been working on. 

“Yeah, got a call from one of Jon’s colleagues.” Arya explains, dropping her bag into the old metal locker against the far wall of the stock room. She carefully folds her coat and sticks it in alongside her bag before closing and locking it. 

“Was it bad?” Ygritte’s voice is full of concern. That’s what Arya loves about Ygritte. She always seems to be concerned for her. Of course, everyone does. Her parents and uncles, her siblings and in laws. They know what she can do, what it costs her and they all worry about her. Just another thing she can feel guilty about in the dark of night, when no one is around to question her melancholy. 

“I don’t think I’m allowed to talk about it.” she answers simply. Ygritte, being married to a cop herself, understands the logic in that and gives Arya instructions to relieve Weasel at the bar. 

“Hey, looks like it’s going to be a slow night.” Weasel greets her as Arya ducks under the counter. 

“Can’t wait.” Arya replies, sincerely. After the day she’d spent at the police station she was more than ready for a quiet night. 

“Rough day?”

“Something like that.” Arya shrugs, picking up an empty glass in front of the only patron at the bar. A blonde haired man in a ratty green t-shirt who smiles when he sees her. He’s a regular at the bar, and Arya’s childhood friend, Lommy. They had been inseparable as kids, never drifting far from the others’ orbit. He seemed to like Weasel and Arya couldn’t blame him. She was sweet and kind and always had a smile, even for the most surly of customers. 

“Well then I wish you the best.” Weasel tells her, before ducking under the counter and disappearing into the back. When she’s gone, Arya sets to work cleaning the counters and organizing the shelves. 

“Can I ask you something?” Lommy speaks up as she comes around the counter toward him. 

“Sure.” Arya keeps her voice low as she answers. Though she doesn’t know why. It’s not like there are many people around to overhear her and the ones that are are either uninterested or too drunk to hear properly. Lommy taps his fingers against the bar top, a steady pattern for his annoying tick that she’s hated since they were kids, but she doesn’t say anything. 

“Why do you work here?” he asks, leaning toward her on his elbows. She pauses the motion of the rag against the counter. 

“Girl’s gotta eat.” she replies, quickly finishing her work and walking away. She doesn’t need another lecture, not from him of all people. 

Lommy rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean, Arry.” he calls after her, and despite the echo of his voice he doesn’t seem to bother the few other drunken patrons spread out through the room and hunkered over their glasses. 

Arya sighs and turns back to her work on the opposite side of the bar, and when that was done and there was nothing left to do and no new customers to take care of, she ducked into the back, pulling a sketchbook from her locker and returning to the bar where she perches on a stool next to the register and starts doodling. 

It starts as scribbles, just to keep her occupied, but before long the scribbles take shape, faces appearing in the pencil lines. One after the other a horde of female faces appear, hauntingly morose in their expressions, eyes full of pain and longing for the lives that were cut short. They cry out, call to her for help and she wavers, her heart racing, eyes filling with tears. She struggles to catch her breath, knuckles white around her pencil. 

Arya startles at the hand that suddenly appears on her shoulder, turning quickly to find Ygritte staring at her concerned. “Hey, it’s time for close up.” she tells her, and Arya looks around, suddenly realizing that the bar is empty. Even Lommy had left without so much as a goodbye. She couldn’t blame him though, she was near impossible to talk to when she got like that. “Are you alright?” Ygritte continues, peaking over Arya’s shoulder to see what she had been working on. She frowns at the collage of faces. 

“Are those the women?” Ygritte questions. Arya turns to look at her confused. She shrugs. “I talked to Jon when I took a break.” she explains. 

“Yeah, some of them.” Arya replies, cleaning up and heading to the back of the bar. Ygritte follows. 

“Jon is picking me up. Do you want a ride?” she asks, watching the younger woman as she, almost on autopilot, slips on her coat and packs up her bag. 

“No, I think I need to walk tonight.” 

Ygritte doesn’t look happy with the answer, but she doesn’t argue either, bidding the young woman she considers a sister goodbye and waiting until she’s out of sight around the corner of the alley before closing up and leaving herself. 

As Arya walks to let her mind wander as far from the dead women as possible. She clocks the usual spirits on her route, the old man and his dog, homeless, died of exposure, his obituary sparse and clinical. The little boy, hit by a car on his way home from school; they never caught the driver. There’s the young couple, dressed in forties attire, caught in a loop of good feelings as they walk to the former GI club together over and over again each night. And then there’s the shadow. She doesn’t know if it’s a man or a woman, or someone in between. She doesn’t know how old they are, or really if they’re human at all. All she knows is that she walks by them every night she walks home, standing in the alley between the corner market and the seamstress. The black of the figure stands out even in the shadows of night and their presence, strangely, does not unsettle her the way other shadowy figures do. 

Arya turns off the high street and winds her way through the old neighborhood. Her house, an old Victorian she’s spent years repairing and rebuilding by hand, stands on a hill above the road. The driveway is sloped upward, starting at the street and winding sharply between two massive pine trees toward a garage she uses only for storage. From the sidewalk begins a stone stairway, and Arya makes her way up it, reaching the top and walking down the path to the front porch. It’s nearly three in the morning now as she slips into the house. She clocks several shadows throughout the living room but she ignores them, shedding her coat, shoes and bag and going upstairs where she plants herself, face first into bed. Exhaustion has settled itself into her bones and she lets it drag her beneath the tide of sleep, drifting away with the current and praying she wakes again.


	3. The Victims

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this, every chapter was going to be a full case, but since I've decided to break it up into smaller parts, I think I'm going to write each case as a different story. That way if at any point I need to stop for whatever reason or it takes awhile to keep going there won't be this big unfinished story just sitting there taunting me.

Intermediary

Chapter 3: The Victims

xXx

Arya awakes in a position she did not fall asleep in. She’s in her room, a chill settling in the air. She stares up at the ceiling, trying to drift back to sleep, but it’s no use, the driving urge to get up overtakes her and she sits up, bare feet resting on the cold hardwood, the white Victorian nightgown falling to cover them as she stands. The cool, heavy weight that rests in her right hand is a presence she does not want, but try as she might, she can’t open her hand to let it go. 

Along the floor, clings a thick white mist and it envelopes her feet as she steps slowly toward the door. Her hand comes up to touch the knob and as it does she hears what can only be described as another voice, female, maybe, but she can't be certain in a way that would make sense to anyone else. 

The door opens on silent hinges, but beyond it is not the hallway that should be there, but instead a room, littered with candles, white, some compiled together, the wax melting and pooling on the floor. They’re all lit now, their glow the only light in the room. She steps across the threshold, leaving the safety of her room behind. 

The voice has grown louder without the door to block it and she listens closely, trying to pick out discernable words. As she walks along in the darkened room it becomes slowly evident that the garble of words is not muffled speaking, but another language, Latin if she remembers correctly. 

From the shadows, Arya emerges to find something out of dimestore paperback, laid out before her. A low sitting alter is set up before her, surrounded by candles of various sizes, all of them burning. On the altar lies the woman from the woods, her eyes closed, skin pale. She looks as though she’s merely sleeping, the cold that takes over her body tells Arya that she's already dead. Nausea threatens to overwhelm her and swallows thickly, forcing it back down. 

A woman in white robes appears from the shadows on the far side of the room. She can not see her face, but the voice is coming from her, she knows it like she knows anything. She’s not just speaking in latin, Arya realizes, she’s praying. Arya watches in horror laced fascination as the woman picks something up from the otherside of the victim's body, and holds it up. The light glints off of it, showing her a large bore needle with a long rubber tube trailing from the end. An embalming needle, experience tells her. 

The woman continues to pray, though now it sounds more like chanting and leans over the young woman from the woods. She slips the needle into the skin of her neck, and Arya flinches at the sharp pain that radiates in her own. Her hand comes up to hold the area, but it does little to alleviate the sudden pressure. Arya waits with bated breath, but the flow of blood that usually accompanies this step does not come. She knows the embalming process well enough from her old life to know that something is wrong, probably a clot, but the woman in robes does not seem to care that this is a fairly simple fix, her temper flaring as she jabs the needle in deeper. Arya winces, gasping at the pain. When this doesn’t get the desired effect, the woman steps back from the body and stares, body tense until in a fit of rage she reaches for something back in the shadows and steps forward again quickly. 

Arya watches in horror as a wooden stake is plunged into the victim's chest over and over again. The nausea grows worse and worse as the killer’s rage boils over and Arya turns away, only to come face to face with the victim standing behind her. Her skin is a ghastly white, her features gaunt and drawn. She opens her mouth and the sound that comes out is not the voice of a single woman, but many women in pain. 

“Save us.”

Arya sits up abruptly, sweat cooling on her skin, her breath in short, labored pants. She jumps up, running into the bathroom where she bends over the toilet and wretches. She coughs and sputters the overwhelming urge to keep going overwhelming the fact that there isn’t much in her system to throw up. 

Autopilot takes over as she finally calms and she downstairs, grabbing her sketch pad before she can even consider what she’s doing. She turns to a fresh page and spends the next hour fleshing out a detailed sketch of the woman from the woods, the details burned into her memory, sitting at the forefront where the others had merely resided in her subconscious. When she’s finished, she showers and dresses, calls a cab and heads out. 

xXx

Gendry looks up from his work in time to catch Arya walking toward him. There’s a determined look on her face that sets him on edge. “Morning.” he greets her, checking his watch. It is indeed morning, several hours before she said she would be there. “You’re early.” he says. 

“I couldn’t sleep anymore.” she tells him, digging through her bag. “Anything happen while I was gone?” she asks. 

“We finished going through the field. There are a total of fifty-three bodies, not all of them female and from the looks of them, some of them go back decades.” he tells her. “Coroner should have a few autopsy reports for us soon.” 

She nods, finally pulling her sketch pad free. She drops her bag on the floor and flips through the pages, landing on the one from that morning. “This is the woman in the woods. The one I talked to.” she tells him, flipping it around for him to see. He’s impressed to say the least, she has a real talent. He tells her as much, but any good feelings are suddenly shunted aside with an icy dagger of dread. He sits up in his chair, setting the book aside and turning to dig through one of the drawers. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks. 

“I know this woman.” he mutters under his breath, tearing through one drawer before closing it and opening another. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for he curses and turns to his computer. She watches as he pulls up a file, a photo of the woman in the woods attached. 

“That’s her.” Arya tells him, and he deflates, leaning back in his chair for a moment. 

“She was my first case after making detective. Her name is Terry Rogers, she went missing on her way home from work one morning. The case went cold quickly, but there wasn’t much doubt that she was dead, even for her family. She wasn’t the type to run away, and if she was taken she would have fought back hard.”

“Did she… have an interest in cult ideas, maybe studied darker religions?” Arya asks and Gendry looks up at her confused. 

“Not that I know of, why?” 

“No reason, just a hunch.” she tells him and he lets it go, making a mental note to talk to her about it again. 

He sighs. “Anyway, can you keep going through files today. And if you think you remember anything well enough, feel free to draw it. We can put it through facial recognition in the lab.” 

“I drew a few last night at work.” she tells him, flipping back a few pages. I only saw maybe thirty women if that, I mean if those bodies are as old as you say, then well, they probably aren’t there anymore.” she continues, leaving him the sketches and getting set up at an empty desk not far away. Gendry turns back to his own work, looking up at her every once in a while through the rest of the morning. The few times he checks on her she’s either or going through files or scribbling on a legal pad. 

At lunch, Gendry ducks out to grab something to eat and brings back something for Arya as well. He sets the bag and coffee on the desk at her elbow, drawing her attention from her work. 

“Thanks.” she replies as he pulls up a chair on the other side of the desk. She has six more missing persons files picked out and he flips through them to see if he recognizes anyone. There are a few names that ring a bell, but nothing he personally worked on. He sits with her for a bit, eating his lunch, before going back to his own desk to work. 

xXx

“The coroner reports don’t really give us much. We can definitely say, however, that the oldest body found so far is approximately thirty years old. None of the women Arya has pinpointed fit that description.” Jon explains. 

Davos shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do we have anything on toxicology?” 

“Lab’s still running it. Podrick thinks he should have it by the end of day tomorrow.” 

“Either the person doing this is very old, or we have two killers using the same dumping ground.” Davos adds, eyes scanning the white board as he takes in each piece of evidence added so far.

“What are the chances?” Jon asks. 

“Not too bad, honestly. That area is perfect for that. The field had clearly been salted to keep the grass from growing, so it could have drawn our current killer in. Until the coroner finishes her work and the lab gets through everything, we won’t really know for sure.” Gendry explains. 

Just then the door opens and they turn to find Arya stepping in. There are another two or three files in hand and the legal pad she had been scribbling in on and off throughout the day. 

“Hey, I need to get going, get ready for work.” she tells them, holding out the files for Gendry to take. 

“Do you need a lift home?” Jon asks. 

She shakes her head. “Already called a cab. They should be here soon.” Jon doesn’t look happy about it

“Just be careful, tomorrow is All Hallows Eve, all the nuts’ll be coming out of the woodwork for the next few days.

Arya nods. “I’ll be back around the same time tomorrow.” 

“Thanks.” Gendry replies and she nods, turning and walking away without another word. Jon watches her until she is out of the bullpen, a sour look on his face as he turns back to the board. Gendry considers asking him if everything is alright, but his attention is quickly diverted to the legal pad. 

“Any particular reason she doesn’t drive?” Davos asks. 

“She’s been in a few accidents. She’s not comfortable with it anymore.” Jon explains and his tone leaves no indication that he wants to talk about it anymore. 

“What is all this?” Gendry questions, drawing the conversation. He holds up the pad for them to see and Jon steps closer to read it. 

“It’s latin. Did Arya write that?” he asks. Gendry nods. “That’s strange. I mean we learned latin growing up, but this is…” he hesitates, taking the pad and reading it for a moment. “Yeah, this is religious. Worship of the Seven.” he explains. “We grew up with the Old Gods up North, so there’s really no reason for her to know this.” 

“Could it have to do with the case?” Davos questions. 

“It would have to.” Jon replies. “I can tell it’s for the Seven just by a few key words, but I have no idea what it means.” 

Gendry huffs to himself, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Can you translate a line or two?” he asks, and Jon does just that as Gendry types it into his phone. “It’s a prayer of exorcism.” he finally says, looking thoughtful. 

“Does that mean something to you?” Davos asks. 

“Not specifically, but Arya asked a strange question this morning and now it just seems even stranger.” he tells them. “She asked if Terry Rogers had any interest in dark religions or the occult.” 

“And then she goes and scribbles prayers she has no reason to know?” Jon says. 

Just then Gendry’s phone rings and he answers, talking back and forth with someone on the other end of the line. When he’s done he hangs up. “Coroner is finished with a few more autopsies and Podrick called, he has a preliminary on the blood tests he ran.”

“Jon,” Davos speaks up. “Go retrieve the coroner reports, Gendry go talk to Podrick. I’m going to dig into this cult idea while you’re gone.”


	4. The Seen and The Unseen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I shall remind you, I went to film school, not medical school. Don't @ me.   
> Thank you!

Intermediary

Chapter 4: The Seen and The Unseen

xXx

Arya steps into the conference room the next morning with a cardboard tray of coffees in one hand. She seems to be unnoticed, the three men hunched over the conference table reading through files.

“Chlo-, chlo-die-a…” Gendry struggles to say a word out loud and on instinct she says;

“Chlordiazepoxide?” drawing their attention. 

“You know it?” Gendry asks, stepping aside to make room for her next to him. He holds the file out for her and she takes it, trading him the tray of coffees and taking one as he thanks her, takes one himself and passes the other two on. 

“Yes, it's a sedative in the benzodiazepine family.” she explains. “It’s mostly used to treat anxiety and insomnia, but some doctors prescribe it to treat the symptoms of withdrawal.” 

“Anything else we should know about it?” Jon asks. 

“Um, it’s only supposed to be used in the short term two to four weeks give or take. It's used to treat debilitating anxiety, the kind that keeps you from functioning properly. It’s known in the pharmaceutical community as Librium.” 

“The corner says large amounts were found in the victim's systems.” 

There’s a far off look in Arya’s eyes as she stares down at the file in her hand. “That makes sense.” she mutters to herself. 

“Why is that?” Gendry asks, seemingly reminding her that they’re there. 

She looks at each of them hesitating and it’s Jon who speaks up first. “Are you having visions?” he asks, almost accusingly. 

Arya glares at him. “They aren’t visions, they’re  _ dreams _ .” she says with a venom that surprises Gendry. By all accounts Arya and Jon are closer with each other than with their own siblings and to hear that tone used toward each other begs quite a few questions.

Arya sighs. “Look, what I’m about to tell you may take more of a leap of faith than you’ve been willing to take so far.” she says, mostly to Gendry. “I don’t fully understand it myself, so I suppose all I can tell you is to take it with a grain of salt.” she explains. “ _ But _ , I had a dream the other night, there was a very dark room and candles everywhere. The killer was there, chanting in latin and Terry was lying on some kind of altar. I got the distinct impression she was already dead.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“There was an overwhelming feeling of nausea and tiredness, both are adverse effects of Librium, worse so when one overdoses on it. It appeared that she had been dead for a few hours when…” she pauses. “Basically, the killer appeared to try to embalm the body, but it was fairly evident she isn’t a professional. She inserted the needle well enough, but the blood was already clotted and I don’t think she expected that because she went mental. Started stabbing Terry with some kind of sharpened stick.” 

“That certainly fits with what we were saying yesterday.” Davos says. “That this killer was only responsible for the more recent bodies.” 

“Terry could very well have been her first, or one of them.” Gendry adds. “We need to tell the coroner to identify which of the bodies from the last ten years had the most damage to the chest area.” 

Davos turns to pick up the conference phone. 

“You can track drugs like this right?” Jon asks Arya.

She nods. “Sure, is a schedule IV controlled drug under the Convention of Psychotropic Substances. It’s lower on the scale but like all barbiturates, it’s easily abused. Any reputable hospital, clinic or otherwise will have reported or at least kept a record of any missing quantity of it.” 

“I’ll get started on calling around, see if anything pops.” Jon volunteers as Davos tunes back into the conversation. 

“Before you go, there’s something else we need to discuss.” Davos adds. “I looked into your cult theory.” he tells them. “And I found something that may fit the bill.” 

“What is it?” Gendry asks. 

“About twenty or so years ago there was a cult that cannibalized a bunch of different religions and created something new from the different belief systems. They called themselves The House of Black and White. Supposedly it was an allusion to the idea that there is no grey area when dealing with good and evil. The leader of the cult, whose name no one seems to know, called his followers the faceless ones and they worshiped a god called the Many Faced God.” he continues. “It was their belief that evil walked the earth, hidden in human form and they were the ones chosen by the Many Faced God to rid the world of it.” 

“That fits pretty closely, honestly.” Arya replies. “The white gowns, the medieval style cross, the latin chanting.” 

“A prayer of exorcism.” Gendry tells her. “We looked it up after you left last night.” 

She looks a bit pale as Davos continues. “Right, but here’s where things get a bit strange. The leader was killed in a shootout with police one evening after he was mistaken for a robbery suspect. The investigators assumed later that he was up to something else and that’s why he reacted violently. After he died, officers went to the compound to inform and question the members of the group but when they got there, they were all dead. Somehow they found out about his death and committed mass suicide.”

“How have we never heard of this before?” Gendry exclaims. 

“The higher ups at the time decided to keep it hush hush. The cult members had cut ties with family, very few of them could be identified and they didn’t want anyone to blame the department for the events that lead to all those deaths.” 

“Assuming this is connected, if everyone died, who's doing the killing now?” Arya asks. 

“That’s the thing, dear, they didn’t keep records so there’s no way to know if everyone did die. They just assumed they did, because it was easier than trying to deal with identification.” Davos explains. “Anyone could have survived and we would never know.” he sighs. “I have a few sources I can tap, see if I can come up with someone who left the cult long before this all happened, but I’m not too hopeful, so whatever you all can come up with would be better.” 

“I’m going to start making calls on those drugs.” Jon speaks up in agreement, turning and stepping out of the conference room. 

“I should get calling on the contacts as well.” Davos adds, leaving as well. 

Arya turns back to the coroner's report left open on the table and Gendry watches as she reads through. There seemed to be more to Arya Stark than he initially thought. Every time he thought he had her pegged she popped up with another surprise. 

“How did you know all of that stuff?” he asks, drawing her from her thoughts. “The medical stuff I mean.”

She doesn’t look like she wants to answer, the slight scowl on her face twisting her pretty features. “I went to medical school.” she finally tells him, closing the file and turning to walk out into the bullpen. Not one to let something drop so easily, Gendry follows after her. “Did you finish?” he asks. 

“I did.” she says simply. “I don’t practice anymore.” her voice growing tight.

“Why not?” 

She stops abruptly, turning to look up at him and he’s suddenly struck by how short she is by comparison. “It’s personal.” her tone couldn’t be more clear, she doesn’t want to talk about this. It only makes him that much more curious. Say it’s the detective in him, but he’s never been able to let a mystery go. Experience however, has taught him when to push and when to step back and now is definitely not the time to push. 

“So,” he continues as she makes herself comfortable at the desk she’s been working at for the last few days. “What about these visions?” 

“They aren’t visions, they’re dreams, and I don’t really understand them. My grandmother tried to teach me when I was a kid, but I just wasn’t interested.” she tells him. “I just wanted to be normal.” she finishes, more to herself. 

“Could your grandmother see ghosts too?” 

“Yes, several women in my family can or could, whatever. It’s hereditary.” 

Like every time in the last few days that she’s spoken about her gift, she’s dismissive, distant. He’s struck, once again by the difference between her and the countless others who have paraded themselves through the precinct over the years. In the fifteen years he’d been a cop he’d seen his fair share, but none of them have ever been quite like her. 

“Why are you staring at me?” her voice pulls him from his thoughts. She’s scowling at him, it’s almost like a challenge, like she’s begging him to say something to send her over the edge, give her a good enough reason to leave this uncomfortable situation behind. 

“Why do you hate your gift so much?” he asks. 

Her scowl deepens. “Two days ago I saw the ghosts of thirty plus women roaming a field where they were dumped like garbage. Please, Sergeant, tell me what about that seems like a  _ gift _ ?” 

She closes her eyes, letting out a long slow breath as she presses the palms of her hands into the bone above her eyes. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“Just a headache.” she says, reaching for her coffee. She takes a drink only to realize it's empty. She grunts, tossing it into the trash can. 

“Hang on, I might have something for that.” he tells her, standing. He comes back a few minutes later with a couple of painkillers and a glass of water for her. She thanks him as she takes it and with nothing better to do, he grabs the sketches she did the day before and works his way through one stack of files, while she takes the another. 

It’s a few hours before he notices something is wrong. He looks across the desk to find Arya looking a bit pale, eyes heavy and a slight sheen of sweat clinging to her forehead. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, leaning forward in his chair. She looks up at him, eyes unfocused. 

“I’m fine.” she replies, her statement belied by her sudden dash toward the restroom. Gendry is out of his seat ready to go after her when Jon appears. 

“What was that about?” 

“I don’t know, she looked like she was about to pass out a minute ago.” Gendry tells him. 

“Did she have a vision or something?” Jon asks. 

“I wouldn’t know what that looks like to be honest.” 

As if on queue, Arya returns, the color in her face nearly gone. 

xXx

Visions come in two varieties. The first, are full on out of body experiences. It’s like being in a dream, but you’re fully awake. They can pop up anywhere and at any time, making life a bit dangerous. The other kind are like flashes of memories that come unbidden. Except they aren’t your memories and they’re usually accompanied by headaches very near migrain level. 

It’s not long after lunch that Arya begins to feel the disorientation that comes with the second kind of vision. She tries to make herself focus on her work, on the files laid before her, but the flashes of the woods, the hiking trail and the crowd of spectators looking on in morbid fascination force themselves to the forefront of her mind and there isn’t much she can do to fight it off. 

Arya is certain of one thing, this is Terry trying to tell her something. There’s a woman in the crowd of spectators, a woman whose face she can’t see. She’s unassuming in every way, yet Arya can’t keep her eyes off of her, or rather Terry can’t. 

She’s young, younger than Arya by a good few years. She’d put her in her mid twenties at least, tall, mousy brown hair and fair complexion. There’s nothing about her that seems familiar, not that there should be. Arya’s not known to associate with serial killers, no matter how outgoing and personable she was at one time or another. 

What strikes her the most, however, is how calm she is. This woman is a far cry from the woman who plunged a wooden stake through someone’s chest out of frustration. The woman that stands in the crowd now is calm, calculating. She’s perfected her craft and learned from her mistakes and this is but a minor set back. Fear settles into her chest and she struggles with the effort not to spiral out of control. She may not be able to control the visions, but she can control her reactions and she’ll be damned if she ends up like…

“Are you alright?” Gendry’s voice pulls her from the vision jarringly. 

“I’m fine.” she replies, though she’s certain her sudden sprint for the rest room tells him otherwise. 

Arya barely makes it into a stall before she’s retching up her lunch, coughing and sputtering and trying not to choke. The sheen of sweat cools uncomfortably on her skin as she sits back on the floor, breathing through her nose. 

Eventually she pulls herself from the floor, staggering back out into the bullpen where Jon is pacing nervously. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Jon says, nearly getting in her face as she stops to lean against the desk. 

“I think Terry is trying to show me the killer.” she explains, nearly collapsing into her seat again. “I keep seeing the woods, the day they brought the bodies out, and the crowd.” 

“What does she look like, can you tell us?” Gendry asks. 

Arya shakes her head. “It’s hard to say. Brown hair, young, but I can’t see her face.”

“Can you see what she’s wearing?” Jon questions. Arya nods. “Where are the photos of the crowd?” 

“Pods took them, he was going to try to run them through facial.” 

“I’ll be right back.” Jon replies, turning and hurrying away. When he’s gone, Gendry turns to Arya, extending a small glass of water to her. She takes it, thanking him softly. 

“Are you going to be alright?” he asks. 

“Eventually.”

“Why is she making you sick?” 

Arya sips the water before setting it aside. “She’s not doing it on purpose. Sometimes spirits can’t communicate the way they want to so the only way to get their thoughts across is to show them.” 

“That’s a vision?” he asks and she simply nods. 

“It’s very disorienting though, sort of like severe vertigo. It’s like trying to exist in two places at once and the mind can’t handle the stain.” 

“Is it subsiding at all?” 

“No, if anything it feels like it’s getting worse, like she’s trying to tell me something else but I can’t figure it out.” 

“One thing at a time then.” he says as Jon returns, nearly out of breath. He sets a stack of eight by ten photos on the desk and begins spreading them out in a hurry. 

“Recognize anyone?” he asks. Arya gets to her feet to look them over, her legs shaky, but she manages all the same. It takes a bit of time to flip through them all, but when she sees the woman she knows unequivocally that it’s her. The sinking in the pit of her stomach is all the proof she needs. She’s identical to the woman in her visions, the woman Terry has been trying to show her. 

Arya’s headache flares as she points her out and Gendry nearly lunges across the desk to help Jon catch her before she can hit the ground. They’re helping her back into her chair as Davos approaches, his attention on a file in his hand. 

“There was a survivor.” he says as he comes to stand beside the desk. “What’s wrong? What happened?” he asks, finally noticing them. 

“Terry showed Arya a part of the killer.” Jon explains, holding out the photo they had pinpointed. 

“You said there was a survivor?” Gendry continues from his place, kneeling beside Arya’s chair. 

“Yes, two actually. A brother and sister. Their names have been stricken from the record to protect their privacy. The ADA is working on a warrant to open the records.” he explains as he looks over the photo. “You’re certain about this?” 

“As certain as I can be.” Arya replies. 

Davos hands the photo back to Jon. “Take this up to Podrick in the lab, have him watch the tapes of the crowd again and try to find a frontal view of the woman.” he orders and Jon obeys, sparing a concerned look for Arya before he goes. When he’s gone, Davos turns back to them. “Gendry, get her home. We’ll run all of this while you’re gone and hopefully have some answers by the time you get back.”

xXx

“Nice place.” Gendry mutters more to himself as he pulls up the long narrow driveway. In the passenger seat beside him, Arya looks pale and drawn, her eyes dropping and a new coat of sweat covering her body. 

“Thanks. A work in progress.” she mutters back almost as if on autopilot. 

Concerned, Gendry gets out of the car and walks around, helping Arya up and guiding her much smaller frame up to the front door. He watches her struggle with the key for only a moment before helping her unlock the door and leading her in. 

“I’m alright.” she complains half heartedly.

“You can barely stand.” he replies, watching from the door as she trudges her way toward the stairs. She just barely manages to get a foot up before it becomes obvious she’s not going to make it on her own. “Sorry about this. You can yell at me later.” he tells her, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her up the stairs. Surprisingly, she doesn’t complain, curling into him as he makes his way through the halls. He deduces which bedroom is hers, setting her gently on the bed and removing her shoes for her. “Just try to get some rest.” he tells her, but she can’t hear him, she’s already passed out, the exhaustion winning out. 

Gendry makes his way back the way he had come, stopping on the landing of the stairs to survey the room. He’s not sure why, but he has a sudden urge to check the house. He does, and despite not finding anything he can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. 

If Gendry could see what Arya sees, he would see Terry, standing off in the corner of the living room, facing the front door,  _ begging  _ Gendry not to leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder that this is going to be a series, so what was originally planned as a slow burn long multi-chapter fic is now a slow burn multi-story fic. It's just going to be a lot easier to focus on details this way.


	5. The Faceless Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added another chapter because I didn't want the conclusion to get rushed.

Intermediary

Chapter : The Faceless Daughter

xXx

“Death is a gift.” her father tells her. “It is a merciful blessing that should be bestowed upon the corrupted. There are those that walk among the innocent, that hide their true selves behind a facade and it is the responsibility of the many faced ones to stop them, to wipe them out before they can harm the innocent. 

The corrupt can look like anyone, from the little girl riding her bike on the corner to the old man on his way home from the market. They were everywhere and the duty of the faceless ones was to wipe them out, once and for all. To protect the innocent, to wade through the muck, to get their hands dirty so the innocent could live safe, ignorant of the evil that threatened their very existence.” 

He spoke those words in every sermon, in one variation or another and even with as young as she had been, she remembers them now like he continued to speak them even after his own death. She supposed he did, through her brother. 

“Jen.” a voice pulls her from her thoughts and she turns abruptly to face the man standing behind her. Jen is not her name, but it’s the name she uses, the one she was given to normalize what people didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. “You alright, you were zoned out there.” she plasters on a smile. 

“Yes, just a little tired. I haven’t been sleeping very well.” she replies. The man, Michael, smiles back, an undercurrent of worry in his expression. 

Michael is the head nurse and office manager for the King’s County Sleep Clinic. He’s sweet, and kind and the innocence he exudes only works to drive her harder to wipe out the corrupt that might hurt him. 

“Maybe you should go home, take the rest of the day off.” he suggests. “There isn’t much going on here, you won’t miss anything.” he tells her. “It is Halloween after all, not many people are worried about sleeping tonight.” he laughs. 

Her laughter is stilted in return. “Maybe I will. Be back fresh in the morning.” 

He nods. “Sounds good, see you tomorrow. Be careful out there, all the weirdos are out.” he says as he follows her into the front of the clinic. 

“Not to mention that serial killer.” the woman at the front desk adds. Jen does not like her, she’s too loud, but she's innocent too and it’s her job to protect her, no matter what she thinks of her. 

“She’s right, call when you get home so we know you made it alright.” Michael insists, and she promises to do so as she exits the clinic. 

xXx

Gendry enters the bullpen, dropping his sidearm into the top drawer of his desk and turning to greet Jon as he approaches. 

“Hey, how’s Arya?” he asks. 

“Alright, she passed out as soon as she got into bed.” Gendry explains. “I dropped an order at the front desk to put a patrol car outside her house for the rest of the day.”

“You think she needs protection?” Jon asks, an undercurrent of panic in his voice.

“I don’t know for sure, but I’m sure you’ve noticed she matches the description of all the recent victims. Now we have an idea that the killer was there, we can’t just assume she didn’t see Arya.” 

Jon curses under his breath. “I’ve been so preoccupied with the danger of her gift, it didn’t even occur to me that she could be in danger from the killer.” 

“Well now she has protection.” Gendry insists. “So we can focus on catching this woman before she even thinks about going after Arya.” 

Jon is still on edge, but he agrees, letting it go and passing Gendry a stack of documents. “There’s a quantity of Chlordiazepoxide missing from three locations. A pharmacy in Flea Bottom, the state hospital on Red Keep Ave and a sleep clinic on the southside.” he explains. “I got a list of employees from each place.” 

“Great, any connection to the two cult survivors?” Gendry asks. 

“I don’t know yet, Davos has the files and he’s been locked in his office since you left. Judging by his expression, he’s getting push back from his contacts.” 

“Great, he better hurry, I doubt the ADA is going to stick around much later than five today, not with trick or treat starting at six.” 

“I forgot about that.” he sighs. 

“Is Ygritte going to be alright with the girls tonight?” 

“Ygritte has to work. She always gives Arya Halloween night off. My cousin Sansa and her wife are taking all the kids out tonight. Though I’m tempted to call her and tell her to keep all the kids in tonight.” he sighs. “Everything we know is speculation at best at the moment. We can’t assume anything we have is fact until we can prove it.” 

Jon was right, as much as Gendry hated to admit it. No matter how much Arya’s abilities managed to help them figure things out, there was only so much it could do. They still needed to prove what she saw to a court of law. Gendry may have been a skeptic when all of this started, but she’d more than proved her abilities and Jon’s, whom Gendry respected greatly, own confidence in her was a swaying factor as well. That being said, it was imperative that they kept Arya’s name out of their reports as much as possible, not only for her own safety and privacy, but more importantly, to keep any defense lawyers or the court of public opinion from swaying the case against their arguments. 

“Alright, what do we have?” Davos asks as he approaches, pulling them from their conversation. 

“A list of employees from three locations where Chlordiazepoxide has gone missing from stock.” Jon explains. “Is there any way to compare the names to what you found?” 

Davos sighs. “If we do we won’t be able to use it in court.” he tells them. “The names I got from my contacts are supposed to be in the sealed files. If we use it all evidence we find as a result will be up for scrutiny.” 

“Is that a risk we should take?” Gendry asks. “I mean we’re talking about a serial killer here.” 

“Catching her doesn’t do us any good if we can’t keep her locked up.” Davos replies. “I’m working on it, but for right now, we can only run background on the names on the list and if they hit on anything, then we can talk about the sealed files.” 

“We better get to work then. We don’t have a lot of time before the city shuts down for the night.” 

xXx

Johnny, that’s the name they gave her brother. Johnny and Jennifer, adopted by a nice family of innocents; The Hagens. Johnny had always been good at blending in, it was a talent their father had praised in his son. So, living among the innocents they were charged with protecting was fairly easy for him. He was a little strange to some people, but nothing that caused alarm in the general population. He was tall and handsome and people seemed to like him, overlooking the strangeness of his personality fairly easily. 

When Jennifer was ten years old, their father would take Johnny out with him on various errands. Years later, when Johnny started taking Jen out on errands with him, she learned that those errands were less domestic and more of an opportunity to train him in spotting the corrupt and like their father before him, he began training her. 

They spent years working together, training and learning from what little they managed to take with them when it all ended. There were nearly a dozen men and women corrupted, but it was the last woman they cleansed that seemed to have the most effect on her brother. Johnny began acting strangely, talking about how this was all wrong, that something wasn’t right about this. After weeks of this, with no nightly errands, he was gone, packed up and left without a word to her about where he had gone and why. Within a few months she was out on the hunt by herself for the first time. 

Ten years, she hunted for ten years without being discovered, but it would seem the Faceless God had decided to test her now. She did not know who this woman was, but she had a hunch  _ what  _ she was and she had little doubt that The Faceless God had put the woman in her path for a reason. 

xXx

“I think I’ve got something.” Gendry says out loud, eyes scanning back and forth over the printed documents and his computer screen. Jon rolls his chair looking over his shoulder. 

“Jennifer Hagen?” he questions. “That sounds familiar.” he says, rolling back over to his desk. He flips through his own papers. “Yeah, you have the Sleep clinic list?” 

“Yes.” 

“She’s listed as an employee of the State Hospital too. Janitor.” he says. 

“What are the odds the same thing goes missing from two locations she works at?” 

“Slim.” Jon says, standing. “What else did you find on her?” 

“A sealed Juvenile file.” Gendry replies. “Specifically Child Protective Services, not criminal.” 

“I think it’s time we get the file unsealed.” 

Gendry keeps working, covering all the bases he can while Jon disappears into Davos’ office. It’s not long before they emerge together. 

“It’s a match. She’s the same girl taken from the cult after the mass suicide.” Jon tells him, rifling through his desk. He comes out with his sidearm, strapping it to his belt. 

“We have a current address.” Davos adds. “SWAT is being dispatched now, we’re meeting them down there.” he explains. “Jon said you sent a patrol to sit outside Arya’s house?” 

Gendry stands from his own seat, getting ready to leave. “Yes.” 

“On your way down, leave an order for the desk sergeant to check in with them, let them know what’s going on after we clear the house.” Davos orders and Gendry agrees, following Jon out of the bullpen. 

xXx

The house sits on a small acreage of land outside of King’s Landing, right along the State Route that travels north to south through the city and eventually down into Storm’s End. It’s a small farm house, dark red brick and clinging green vines give it an ominous look that puts Gendry on edge. As he stands on the other side of the street, watching SWAT enter the house, he’s struck with a sudden sense of foreboding. Perhaps it’s over a decade of experience investigating violent crimes, or perhaps there’s something more that he can’t explain, something that Arya could, but there’s a heavy weight settling in his chest the longer it takes SWAT to radio in the all clear. 

When they do finally call in, it’s not with the news he had hoped. “Suspect is not present.” the lead says and the weight only worsens. Beside him, Davos curses under his breath. 

“Alright, let’s get CSU in there. I want this place searched from top to bottom.” Davos orders and the waiting officers spring to life. 

“You gonna shadow mate?” Podrick Payne is the youngest head of forensics in King’s Landing history. He’s a brilliant scientist with an eye for detail that you just can’t teach. 

“Yeah, we need to figure out where she might have gone.” he replies, accepting the necessary coverup. As he’s slipping on the body suit and gloves, the SWAT commander approaches them. 

“I don’t want to bias anyone here, but I think it’s safe to say you’ve got your girl.” he tells them. “The place looks like the batcave of serial killers.” 

Davos sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and Gendry thinks the older man is definitely going to need time off after this case. They all will. “Alright.” he says turning to Jon. “Go talk to her coworkers, see if they can tell you anything about her. Where she hangs out, who she spends time with.” 

Gendry follows Podrick into the house after that sticking close while they walk the house. 

“This place is ridiculous.” Podrick says from his place squatting beside the living room sofa. He’s carefully cutting out swatches of the carpet where large red stains had soaked and dried into the old brown fibers. “It’s like a goddamn movie, it’s unreal.” he continues, standing to height and passing the evidence off to another tech to take out of the house. 

They move on to a nearby table where books and journals are stacked haphazardly along the surface. After Podrick photographs the table, Gendry starts picking through the books. Most of them are religious in nature and the journals are all handwritten. A good portion of them are new, but there are a few that are dated all the way back to the sixties and seventies. 

“There’s too much here, we need to start looking through everything ASAP.” Podrick tells him. “I’m going to order a tent be set up outside so we can separate and sort everything on sight and decide what stays and what needs to go to the lab immediately.” 

“Alright, I’m going to keep shadowing the others.” 

xXx

Jennifer Hagen stands for hours along the tree line that borders the property where her home sits. It’s past sunset, but there’s still enough light that she can see across the backyard. The bodies that mill about her house put her on edge. There are too many people in her space, too many people going through her things. She needs to stop them, she needs to get them out of there, but she’s powerless now. 

She won’t be for long. 

xXx

Jon enters the tent outside the house several hours later, a frustrated look on his face. “What’s wrong?” Davos asks, drawing Gendry attention from the journal he’s looking through. 

“A lot of mixed messages from her coworkers. Some say they aren’t surprised, others say we’re wrong.” Jon tells them. 

“That’s not totally out of the ordinary.” Gendry adds. 

“No, but I’ve got two people who say they saw her at work today, one thinks we’re wrong about her the other doesn’t but both of them agree that she was acting strangely, though they can’t agree on why.” 

“Strange how?” 

“The Head Nurse says she said she was tired and he sent her home early since there wasn’t much going on. The woman at the desk seems to think she was faking to get out of work. Something about having a soft spot for the guy and using it to her advantage. I got the impression she doesn’t particularly like Hagen.” Jon explains. “Either way, she left work early and no one knows where she could be. She’s not very social. They told her to call them when she got home but she never did.” 

“She could literally be anywhere then.” Davos adds. “What about family?” 

“I talked to her foster family, she cut ties with them years ago when her brother disappeared.” 

“Great, another psychopath to worry about.” Gendry mutters under his breath, turning back to the journal. 

“She could be out there hunting for another victim, there'll be no shortage of vulnerable people out tonight.” Jon says. “And we still have no idea how she chooses victims.” 

“We might, though.” Gendry speaks up. “I’ve been reading these journals, and apparently the victims are what the Faceless Ones call the  _ Corrupt _ . They’re dark entities who take the shape of humans with the intent to corrupt the innocent.”

“Like demons?”

“That’s what it sounds like. Apparently the Faceless Ones believe it is their responsibility to take out these dark entities and protect the innocent.” Gendry continues. “It doesn’t say how they can tell who's corrupt and whose not though.” 

“Well, for some reason she’s only going after women who fit a certain description compared to the older victims who are all over the map and of every gender.” Podrick adds from his place at the far end of the table. “So there has to be a reason for that.” 

“Whatever the reason it narrows down the victim pool.” Davos says. 

Jon turns to Gendry. “Did you check in with the patrol outside of Arya’s house?” 

“Yes, they radioed back all clear.” he explains. Jon seems to deflate a bit, turning his attention to the other journals. “Did we find her most recent journal?” 

“No, not yet.” Podrick replies. “I have my people looking for it. They’re picking her bedroom apart as we speak.” 

In the meantime they went about looking through the other journals and books, one of which included a bible that had been written by various people over numerous years. Jon settles down with that while they wait and within an hour, the forensics unit returns with what they’re looking for. Podrick logs it, then opens the bag to flip through it. 

“Last entry was three days ago,” he tells them. He then begins to read.  _ “The burial ground has been discovered by innocents. It’s my own fault. Kathy Hartenly was innocent, my instincts and experience told me this and yet I didn’t listen, so convinced by what I had seen that I ignored all other factors. I will forever carry the guilt of my mistake and can only hope the Faceless God welcomes her with honor into his kingdom.  _

_ I can’t let this deter me, however. There are too many corrupted in the city and the time I waste feeling sorry for myself is time they will have to get the upper hand on innocent people.  _

_ I believe the Faceless God has forgiven my mistake and placed a witch in my path to aid in my work. I will not approach her yet, however, after this last mistake I need to be sure she is in fact a witch. There can be no doubt in a ritual as important as this one. If only Johnny was here to help. He would know what she is without a doubt. But he’s not here, and while I don’t know where he is, I can only assume he’s doing The Faceless God’s work wherever he went.  _

_ All Hallow’s Eve is in a few days, I need to be sure by then.”  _

“A witch?” Gendry asks, the sinking feeling in his chest returning. 

“Hang on, I think I read something about that in this thing.” Jon replies, flipping back through the pages of the bible. “Yeah, here,  _ A witch is a being of immense power. Every witch is different but the faceless ones must always remember that they are as evil as the corrupt, if not more, for they chose the path of evil while the corrupt were born into it. Dispatch a witch whenever you can and if possible, use them in the ritual of blessing _ .” 

“Well that’s ominous.” Podrick says. “What the fuck is a ritual of blessing?” 

They watch as Jon flips through the book again, eventually landing on a page and begins to read to himself before saying; “It’s a ritual for bestowing luck and fortune on a Faceless One to grant them the power to continue their work without interference. Sacrificing a witch through ritual will bestow the witches power on the ritual bearer and grant them a temporary blanket of protection from innocents who do not understand their mission.”

“Alright, I’m officially done with these people.” Podrick complains. “Who the fuck thinks like this?” 

“One too many people.” Gendry mutters, grabbing a radio from one of the other tables. “1-1-9 to dispatch, come in.”

_ “Dispatch to 1-1-9, go ahead detective.”  _

“Dispatch I need orders to Unit 5-0-7. Go into the house and check on the charge.” 

_ “Copy that detective. Dispatch to 5-0-7, come in.” _ there’s a pause where they receive no response.  _ “Dispatch to 5-0-7, come in.” _ again there’s no response.  _ “Dispatch to 1-1-9, there is no response from 5-0-7, do you want another unit to check in?” _

“Yes,” Gendry replies immediately, getting up. Jon follows suit. “Be advised, 1-1-9 and company en-route, possible murder suspect may be targeting 5-0-7’s charge.” 

_ “Copy that 1-1-9. Any available units in the vicinity of 1159 Red River Run please respond, charge units not responding, possible murder suspect on premises. All units be aware there is an innocent charge inside, investigating detectives are en-route as well.”  _

_ “5-0-5 responding, dispatch, five minutes out.” _

“You think she thinks Arya is a witch?” Davos asks. 

“At this point, reading all of this I can pretty much imagine anything. She talks about seeing this witch after we discover her dumping ground. That’s too much of a coincidence for me.” Gendry says quickly, rushing out of the tent, Jon on his heels. 


	6. Almost Witching Hour

Intermediary 

Chapter 6: Almost Witching Hour

xXx

Arya has her first dream at the age of nine. She’s in a field of wildflowers, a place she recognizes from the waking world as the field on the north side of Winterfell Park. It's one of her favorite places to be alone when the weather permits it, and there are nothing but happy, calm memories attached to it. 

That night she dreams of a young girl, one she doesn’t know but has seen around. She’s younger than Arya when Arya sees her in the waking world, she’s usually playing alone in the park. The young girl asks her where they are and Arya tells her, she asks what they’re doing there and Arya doesn’t know, so she tells her they can do whatever they want, she’s pretty sure it’s a dream. The young girl tells her she doesn’t think she’s dreaming, but she doesn’t say anymore about it, asking Arya if she wants to pick flowers. Arya  _ loves  _ flowers, so of course she says yes. 

In the morning, every local news station is talking about the young girl she dreamt about. The little girl never came home from playing in the park the day before, and police were calling on everyone who could spare the time to help look for her. 

Arya reacts without thinking, telling her father that she dreamt about the little girl in the flower field. He looks stricken by her admission and it wouldn’t be until years later that she would realize why, but at the time it didn’t register. 

Within hours of her father calling her aunt, the little girl’s body was found in the creek bed that ran through the southern edge of the field. She had slipped on the rocks and hit her head, drowning in the shallow spring melt off. 

Since then she had had numerous dreams, and she mostly kept them to herself unless it was too important to do so. She convinced herself that if she ignored them, she could pretend to be normal, but it was all a pipedream. She was a Stark, she would never be normal. The “gift” as her grandmother called it, was not something she could just wish away. It would be with her and her family so long as the Old Gods saw fit. No matter what it did to them. 

Her dreams have varied over the years, some are peaceful, some are violent and even still, some are like living through a horror movie. Now, is one of those times. 

She can barely breathe through the urge to throw up. Her vision is doubled and the throbbing in her head is overwhelming her ability to think. She’s in her home, specifically her bedroom. It’s dark, the only light that of flickering candles along the edges of the room and bed. There’s an ache in her shoulders, and she tries to roll it out, but she finds she can barely move them. 

“I’m sorry.” she hears, and she turns her head to find Terry Rogers sitting beside her, tears streaking her face. “I’m so sorry.” she cries. “I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t.”

Arya wants to ask what she means, but when she tries to speak, her voice is missing. 

“I’m sorry.” she continues. “I didn’t mean to make you sick. I was just…” she hiccups. “I just wanted to warn you.” she takes a deep shaky breath. “You need to wake up, you need to fight!” she tells her. “You need to wake up!” 

Arya feels a jolt of panic as Terry’s face jerks closer and she jerks back, eyes snapping open. She’s disoriented as she comes to consciousness, the pain prevalent in her dream, known to her as she wakes. She tries to roll the pain out of her shoulders, but the sharp tug of fabric around her wrists halts the movement. 

The panic that grips her is unlike anything she’s ever felt before and it occurs to her that this is her own emotion, that she’s not feeling for someone else, this is what she feels for herself, or at least that’s what she would think, if she could think clearly at all. It takes time, more time than it should to regain her faculties to cut the panic down into simple fear, but when she does she gets a good look at the room. 

It's identical to her dream, right down to the candles. She tries to lift her head, to look down the bed, but there’s not a lot of give on the ropes holding her wrists to the headboard and she just barely manages to get a look at the foot of the bed. There’s not much to see, the candlelight doing very little to actually illuminate the room. She can tell that her feet aren’t bound, but at the moment she can’t see how that could help her at all. 

Arya looks around the room as best she can, catching sight of the alarm clock on the nightstand. Two hours to midnight, good to know but far from useful at the moment. There’s not much else she can do but struggle against her bonds and in the process she realizes that her hands aren’t separated. Instead of being lashed to the separate posts, they were tied together above her head. Based on the texture, the ropes are nylon, and she thinks if she digs hard enough she can work her fingers into the knots. But she’s so tired. The prevailing feeling of nausea hasn’t faded and the pain in her head can be ignored for only so long before it comes roaring back to remind her it’s there. 

Through her struggles she registers the creak of the top step and halts, turning her head to peer out the darkened open doorway. It's not long before a figure emerges, a familiar figure. Tall, with mousy brown hair and pale skin. This is the woman that Terry was trying to warn her about. 

“We’re almost out of time.” She says, but Arya gets the feeling she’s not talking to her. 

xXx

The witch's name is Arya. Arya Stark. She’s thirty five years old and according to the certificate in a drawer in her nightstand she is licensed to perform surgery in Westeros. It makes her sick to think of how many innocents were put in her hands, unaware of the danger they were in. No one would have to worry about it ever again, and her life would be put to good use, for the betterment of mankind. 

Getting into her house had been tricky, but the Faceless God was watching over her. There was a patrol car sitting outside her house, and despite their view from the street being obscured by the rise of the hill the house sat on, she didn’t want to take the chance that they would inadvertently interrupt her. One of the ways she covered for nightly hunting, was working as a delivery driver for a food app ordering service. And if she ever had doubts about her mission, they were immediately relieved by the notification of coffee order from the officers outside the house. She took the order, slipping enough medication into the coffee to put them to sleep before delivering it. 

Once in the house it was simply a matter of ambushing Arya, but she found rather quickly that she didn’t need to do that. Arya didn’t react to her presence, sleeping right through her work as she secured her to the bed and began setting up the ritual. There was time to waste when she was finished, and she spent it looking around the house, looking for anything that she could use to pinpoint Arya’s potential victims or that she herself could use to help with her mission. 

There was a moment as she searched and found nothing, that she questioned whether Arya was what she appeared, but too many things had fallen into place too perfectly for her to think that she was wrong. Arya was just careful, that was all. No more no less. 

The house is spars despite its size and it looks like she’s doing work on it. There are photographs in boxes, pictures of Arya with people she can only assume are family. A sense of dread fills her as she considers that she could be dealing with a family of evil. She’ll have to be sure to look into it. Once the ritual is complete, she should have a substantial amount of protection to do so safely. 

Eventually it comes time to proceed and Jennifer turns back to the stairs, ascending them slowly as she contemplates her work to come. There’s so much to do and the ritual will take time and patients. Her brother had once equated it to an exorcism, requiring the performer to be strong of heart, mind and soul. It was best done with multiple people, but she was alone and had been for a long time, so she herself would have to do it. 

Jennifer stops in the doorway of the bedroom, eyes landing on the now conscious woman secured there. She hadn’t expected her to be awake. She had clearly been expending too much energy in the last few days, practically debilitated from the expenditure. Being awake now meant she could think, speak, react to the ritual. She would be able to weave opposition against him. 

“We’re almost out of time.” she mutters to herself, catching a glimpse of the time on the clock. 

xXx

Being dead is strange. It’s like living in a dream world. She feels nothing, not the wind on her face or the movement of people around her. She smells nothing and yet the sense of decay that follows her around is so evident she can’t escape it no matter how far from the field she runs. 

At first Terry Rogers is angry. She knows she’s done nothing to deserve this fate and yet here she is, watching a woman bury her in a field in the park she runs in almost daily. She wants to lash out, to attack this woman who feins reverence and respect for her corpse, but she can’t. When the woman leaves, Terry tries to follow, but she can’t move beyond the boundaries of the field. So, she wanders the field instead realizing with horror that she is not alone. 

Silpha Denbrooke is seventy years old. She’s been there only a year or so longer than Terry. She tells Terry that there had been a man with the woman when they killed her, but Terry only ever saw the woman. The others in the field say the same, some of them even tell her that they were killed by another man, or another woman, or by a group of people and that they have been there for decades, watching time pass one moment at a time. 

Terry is afraid, not for herself, there is nothing to fear here anymore, but for her family. What will think happened to her, do they miss her, are they looking for her? She cries for them, cries and prays that they will find the peace that eludes her. 

Ten years pass, maybe more, she’s still learning to track the passage of time here. The woman returns with more victims, and the others comment on the strangeness of her victims, how they all look the same, where previous killers killed without pattern. In fact, with the exception of her Silpha Denbrooke, who could pass for Terry’s grandmother, all the other victims ranged in age, size, ethnicity and even gender. She even recognizes one of the men in the field as someone she saw on a syndicated true crime show about missing persons as a teenager. 

Something just isn’t right, but as time goes on Terry grows complacent. The others tell her that's normal, that they were all full of vitriol and revenge at first and that slowly, as time passed it all began to fade, like they were fading to nothing. There is fear in the idea that she may fade to nothing herself, so she forces herself to feel, to think, to care. For every person that joins them against their will, she stands a little taller, fights a little harder, she makes sure they know she is there and will be there until the day their killer makes a mistake.

And then one day, she does. 

Kathy is sweet and scared and so confused when she wakes in the field adjacent to theirs. She was not buried, and she can not cross the threshold from one side to another. Terry calms her and they speak from a distance, but Kathy doesn’t remain long. She talks about a light and how warm and calm she feels when she looks into it. Eventually she decides to walk into it. She doesn’t come back, but it’s most likely for the best, because within days of police finding Kathy’s body a woman appears with one of the detectives from the previous days. 

There is a sense of almost joy that electrifies the field as they all realize that the woman can see them. She can speak to them, she can help them. Terry feels the emotions that overwhelmed her upon her death taking hold again and she sets to work. But there’s a problem, she doesn’t actually know what she’s doing, and she inadvertently makes things worse. There’s only so much she can do, learn to do in such a short time with her new found mobility. She knows she needs to tell Arya what happened, but in doing so all she does is make her sick and now she’s vulnerable. 

Terry watches the woman as she enters the house through the back door. She feels the anger rising in her again, and she struggles to remain composed enough to do something. The woman makes her way upstairs and Arya doesn’t even react to the new sounds in the house. She’s too far gone in whatever sickness Terry has inadvertently brought down on her. Her only hope now is to find a way to wake Arya so that she can fight back. 

The woman leaves the room and Terry goes to work, focusing whatever energy she can manage on Arya’s prone form. She’s taken too long though, because by the time Arya rouses from her stupor, disoriented and suffering, the woman has returned.

xXx

_ “Dispatch to 1-1-9, come in.”  _

“Dispatch this is 1-1-9, go ahead.” 

_ “1-1-9, unit 5-0-5 has made it on site. Unit 5-0-7 is incapacitated by unknown causes. 5-0-5 is headed into the house.”  _

“Copy that dispatch and we are two minutes out.” 

Gendry re hooks the radio to the dash and presses a little harder on the gas.

xXx

Arya struggles as the woman nears the bed, muttering under her breath the whole way. She’s focused and intent and Arya hasn’t felt this much fear in a long time. She renews her efforts on the ropes, no longer concerned with being seen. She’s a fit woman, active, she can fight this woman off if need be, but she needs to be free to do that. 

She tugs and pulls at the knots, feeling the ropes slipping open. She pulls a wrist free, wincing at the burn of the rope against her skin, but ultimately pushing aside the pain. 

“No!” the woman’s voice cuts through her panic, and the sudden weight of the woman on top of her startles Arya. She’s sitting astride her chest, hands lashing out, trying to secure the ropes. “No, you’ll ruin everything.” she grunts between her teeth as they struggle. 

Arya throws a fist out, clipping the woman in the jaw. She falls back, caught off guard and Arya starts kicking out, trying to buck the woman off of her. 

“Get off of me!” she screams, voice ragged. Arya lifts up, yanking her other wrist free in the process, and reaches out, shoving at the woman with every ounce of strength she can muster. Arya swings out, clipping her in the breastbone and managing to knock her down. She kicks out again, freeing her legs and kicking the woman off the bed. She hears the thud of her body hitting the floor, and rolls over, trying to get up. The adrenaline however, is wearing off and the exhaustion and nausea is slowly starting to seep in again. Her movements are staggered, stilted and she can’t seem to find her footing on the soft mattress. 

“Arya!” she hears, the voice distant but familiar. It's Terry, she’s sure of it. “Arya, you need to get up, you need to run.” she wants to yell, to scream that she knows, but she just can’t find the energy. 

“No, no, NO!” The voice of the woman is frantic, dark and angry. Arya feels the bed dip behind her and braces for the impact she knows is coming. But when it doesn’t come she musters the energy to turn her head, looking over her shoulder. 

The woman is kneeling over her, a knife raised in one hand. Her face is twisted in anger and fury but her body is frozen in place, the strain of her attempts to move clearly etched across her body. It's then that Arya notices Terry, her form practically glowing as she stands behind the woman, eyes white and revenge intent on her own face. 

“No.” Terry says with such conviction, the weight of it feels like a punch to the gut. “No!” she repeats and like a wave, the energy ripples off of her, tossing the woman across the room. She slams into the far wall, crumpling on the floor, the knife falling out of reach. 

xXx

It’s not what he expects to see when he barges through the bedroom door, but it’s significantly better. Arya is struggling to get to her hands and knees on the bed, her movements shaky at best, while Jennifer Hagen lies on the floor across the room, unmoving. 

Gendry jumps into action as Jon moves, following him across the room. He stands watchful as Jon checks on Jennifer, and only when he’s got her handcuffed does her lower his weapon. 

“Check the rest of the house.” Gendry orders, holstering his weapon and kicking the knife away. He looks around the room, taking in the scene. It’s set up just as Arya had described Terry’s murder scene and the thought is chilling to say the least. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if they were a minute later. Although, the look of Jennifer Hagen crumpled on the floor doesn’t really match with Arya’s appearance. 

He’s next to her in the next moment, helping her sit up. “Are you alight?” he asks and like a trigger, the question seems to remind her of the pain in her wrists. She looks down, finding the skin red and raw. “Fuck.” Gendry curses under his breath. He inspects them, gingerly twisting them this way and that. 

“Not broken.” she mutters, leaning heavily into his side. 

“Sprained?” he asks, hoping the questions will keep her cognizant. 

“Maybe.” she takes in a shaky breath, struggling to keep her eyes open. 

“What happened?” he asks and he knows she knows what he’s asking. 

“Terry.” she begins, nursing her wrists against her chest. “She went poltergeist.” 

“She can do that?” 

“Any ghost can if they’re angry enough.” her head lays on his shoulder, almost of its own accord and Gendry turns to Jon who's watching them with a strange look in his eyes. 

“We need a paramedic up here.” Gendry tells him. 

“They’re on their way. They’re checking on the patrol unit out front.” Jon explains. There’s a tight look on his face, like he’s trying to figure something out, but he doesn’t say anything, even when it appears that he wants to. 

“The rest of the house is clear.” one of the officers calls out as he enters the room again. Looks like she ransacked the house a bit, but no major damage and no one else hiding out.” 

“Thank you.” Jon replies with a nod just as the second officer returns. 

“Captain Seaworth is out front, he wants to know what’s going on.” 

Jon turns a worried look to Arya. “I’ve got her.” Gendry tells him and after only a moment, he turns and walks out. 

It’s just them in the room after that, and Gendry keeps checking over his shoulder everytime he hears a noise, equal parts paranoid and worried. She doesn’t resist as he adjusts her position against him and he’s just about to pull out his radio to call the paramedics up when she speaks again. 

“Terry’s gone.” she says, and he looks down to find her eyes closed. “I think… I think she’s changed now.” 

“Changed?” he asks. “What do you mean?” 

“She’s… too angry.” 

Before he can ask anymore questions, two paramedics enter, rolling a stretcher between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is an epilogue with some Gendrya friendshippy goodness.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS DONE!!!   
> Outline for the next story is finished, it just needs tweaked.

Intermediary

Chapter 7: Epilogue

xXx

_**3 Weeks Later** _

November in King’s Landing is nothing like November in the North, but the winter winds blow as if they don’t know that. Arya pulls her jacket tighter around her with one unencumbered hand. Normally she would love this weather, but as of late, it hasn’t held the same nostalgic comfort she’s used to. 

Arya steps up to the graveside, the fill dirt still damp from the winter rains, and lays the bouquet of white lilies along the edge of the temporary place marker among the others. She adjusts them, making sure they aren’t obscuring the name and then brushes off some wet clumps of grass and dirt from the stone. When that’s done, she takes a little step back and shoves her hands in her pockets, staring down at the fresh dirt and flowers. 

Arya isn’t sure what she hopes to accomplish by standing there. A part of her hopes that Terry will show up like so many of her kind do, to see how her family has honored her remains, but there’s a lingering doubt that that will happen. Whatever power Terry tapped into that night all those weeks ago, it’s led her somewhere off the well worn and ancient path and now all Arya can do is wait and hope that she will make herself known eventually. The state of her when she does, however, is anyone’s guess. 

She hears the soft, wet whisper of footsteps behind her and she turns slightly to peak, finding Gendry standing not more than a few paces behind her, a bouquet of white lilies in hand. 

“Great minds think alike.” he says awkwardly, like he’s trying just a little too hard. She can’t really blame him, things are often strange after she’s helped someone with her abilities. In fact, in some instances, things are so awkward that people will avoid her like she carries the plague, unwilling to be reminded of their loss. Especially not when a small part of them will always harbor doubts. It’s a lonely existence that way, but she has her family and she had Lommy and she supposes that’s all she really needs. “White lilies.” he continues, slowly walking closer. “Terry’s favorite.” 

She hums, stepping aside so he can reach the grave. She watches as he crouches down, laying the flowers in an empty space around the grave marker. He stays there for a moment like he might be praying and then stands again beside her, jamming his hands into the pockets of his dark peacoat. 

“How have you been?” he asks. 

“Alright.” she replies. “No scars or anything.” she tells him, pulling one hand out just enough for him to see the healed skin of her wrists. 

“Good, that’s good.” 

Silence descends again and Arya is just considering ending it, turning and walking away when he speaks again. 

“So… have you, uh… seen her...lately?” he asks, and there’s little doubt who he’s talking about. 

“No, not since that night.” she explains. “At this point it’s up to her to make the next move.” 

“What are the chances she just moved on already?” 

That was a good question and one she had considered several times over in the last few weeks. “Fifty-fifty.” she tells him. It’s not a total lie. For all she knows Terry did cross over when all was said and done. The anger that she used to manipulate all that energy dissipated and she found peace. But experience tells Arya a different story. One that involves a very angry poltergeist, no longer in control of herself. “She could have moved on fairly easily when it was all said and done. Saw her family, walked into the light.”

“Or?”

“Or she’s still out there, wandering around with no idea what to do or where to go. More than likely full of rage she can’t control… yet.” 

“Yet?” he asks, and his tone tells her he’s not sure he wants the answer to his question. 

“If she stays like that long enough, she could learn to control it. But what she becomes when she does may be unrecognizable.” Arya explains. 

The silence that returns is heavy. Gendry’s presence beside her is a weight she both needs and doesn’t want to become dependent on. So, she turns from the grave to face him and says; “Well, it was good to see you again. Better circumstances and all that, but I should be getting home.” 

“How did you get here?” he asks, and the question is so unexpected she answers without thinking. 

“I walked.” 

“It’s kind of cold out here. Do you want a ride home?” 

She shouldn’t say yes, because in doing so she will only prolong the inevitable awkwardness she has been trying to avoid all her life. However, the little part of her that still thinks about that night, beyond the danger she was in, that still thinks about how he felt sitting next to her, a sturdy presence in a sea of turbulence, clamors for her to say  _ yes _ . So she does. 

He pulls into her driveway not long after, stopping just short of the edge of the porch and turns off the engine. “Still working on the house?” he asks as she unbuckles her belt. 

“Yes.” she replies simply unsure if she told him about the work she was doing, or if he noticed the last time he was there. “It’s coming along. I’m working on the living room now. Repainting.” 

“That’s nice, fixing up your own house. There’s just something about doing the work yourself that feels right. Right?” 

Arya turns to look at him, but he’s not looking at her. Instead he’s staring intently at the house, the chipping paint she has yet to cover and the misshapen deck boards she needs to replace when the weather turns again. She can’t see his eyes very well, but she thinks if she could she would find longing there. 

“Yeah,” she finally replies. “It is nice. My family thought I was crazy, buying this place sight unseen. None of them thought I would have any time to do the work.” there’s a sadness that grips her when she thinks about those conversations. The way her family worried that she would stretch herself too thin. Working full time in the ER and fixing up a house. There was serious doubt she would be able to keep up with the demands of it all. “Guess they were wrong.” she mutters to herself, opening the door and stepping up out of the car. She turns back to shut the door only to find Gendry watching her now and as she leans in to thank him for the ride, that’s not what comes out of her mouth. “Would you like to come in?” she asks. “Coffee?” 

Gendry hesitates for only a moment. “Yeah, I’d like that.” he tells her, unbuckling his own belt and stepping out. He follows her up to the front door, a hideous shade of forest green she intends to get rid of as soon as she starts work on the outside in the summer. The inside of the house smells like fresh paint, drop clothes and paint supplies spread out through the room. She stayed up late putting on the first coat and she’ll do the second later that day. 

“It’s a nice color.” he tells her. “Brings out the color of the original woodwork.” he continues, as he follows her down the hall and into the kitchen. She peaks over her shoulder at him.

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.” she says, starting the coffee pot before turning to look at him. He’s looking around the kitchen, taking in the details from the stone blue walls to the dark mahogany cabinetry. This was one of the first rooms she worked on, determined to have a working kitchen no matter what the rest of the house looked like. 

When he finally looks at her, he looks a little embarrassed. “Yeah, my last foster family owned a flipping business. I helped out, learned what I could. Did a bit of construction work to put me through college.” 

She hums. “Really? Any chance I could pick your brain sometime?” she asks. “I may have grown up learning everything I could from the workers around my family's estate, but I am far from an expert.”

Gendry chuckles. “What, medical school didn’t prepare you for repiping your house?” he asks, sliding into a seat at the breakfast bar. 

Arya laughs. “You know, I must have missed that day.” 

The coffee pot makes a ringing sound, letting her know it’s finished and she turns to pull the carafe off the warmer, setting it on a pot coaster on the bar and moving to retrieve mugs, sugar and creamer. They sit across from each other as they each fix their coffee and its Gendry who speaks up first. 

“So what are you planning to do with this place?” 

“This and that. The guest bathrooms need to be updated, there’s a bonus room I’m turning into an office and I haven’t decided if I’m going to finish the basement yet. And then of course there’s the outside. Full repaint, fix up the porch, landscaping. The whole nine yards.” 

“A big project and you’re doing it all yourself?” 

“Yes, but it’ll be worth it.” she tells him. “I can’t wait to get started on the outside, but I’m hoping to have the inside completely finished by the time I start that.” 

Gendry smiles almost absently, and she’s struck by just how handsome it makes him look. From the minute she met him, he’s always been rather surly looking. Jon had told her that that was just the way he was. Always so serious, sometimes even unapproachable. But right now he looked so sweet, more like the man who stayed with her all night, just to make sure she was alright. He had been gone in the morning, but the indent in the old sofa in the living room told her he had slept there all night, a fact she found hard to believe given his relative size compared to the old thing. But he had done it, and she hadn’t seen him since. Not until he showed up at Terry’s grave that afternoon. 

“You know,” he begins, pulling her from her thoughts. “I’m actually off today if you want any help.” 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” she replies immediately. 

“You didn’t. I volunteered.” 

xXx

Arya is beautiful when she laughs. It’s not a thought he expected to have and yet it’s the one he does as he struggles to untangle his feet from the plastic drop cloth on the living room floor. He’d walked across the room to refill his paint tray and thankfully, he hadn’t been carrying it when he tripped over a bunched up piece of the sheeting and fell into a wet spot. He supposed he should be grateful she made sure he was alright before she started laughing at him. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asks, moving closer. She coraches down beside him on the floor, almost as if instinct has brought her there, prepared to make sure he’s uninjured. Her bedside manner leaves much to be desired. Gendry thinks about it for all of a second before he replies;

“Peachy.” he tells her, and then without hesitation, picks up the paintbrush he dropped, smacking her in the face with it. She stumbles back, sputtering in outrage as she lands on her ass. 

“What the fuck, you stupid asshole!” she exclaimed as he bursts into fits of laughter. 

“Oops.” he merely replies. She glares at him, lunging for the paintbrush which he holds just out of reach, his long arms making it fairly easy. She’s tenacious though, planting her hands on his chest and shoving him back. He’s so caught off guard he can’t even brace himself and he tips over, laughing all the way down. She manages to wrestle the paintbrush from him and it’s only a matter of time before there’s a wet splotch of  _ Midnight Swim _ across his cheek. 

Arya tosses the paintbrush aside as she rolls over to sit next to him. His laughter is slowly subsiding as he lays there, staring up at the ceiling. It’s been awhile since he’s laughed like this. So long he doesn’t really remember the last time he’s cut loose. Gendry isn’t the social type, he never has been. He vaguely remembers his mother calling him her stoic little sentinel, all straight faced and serious, standing vigil at her side whenever they went somewhere. That certainly hasn’t changed in forty years, either. He’s as standoffish as he’s always been and more inclined than ever to spend his evenings alone or working late. 

He doesn’t get out much, that’s for sure, and when he does, going on a rare date or two or being dragged out by his coworkers, he begs off as early as he can, unconvinced that he should be concerned with his social standing. This is probably the longest amount of time he’s spent with someone outside of work in years and the truth is, he doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t know what it is about Arya, but she’s just so easy to be around. Whether they’re talking about something or not, there’s a comfort in her presence he’s not sure he’s ever felt before. 

They sit there for what feels like hours before they finally get up and finish the job and when they’re done, Arya offers him the shower while she orders dinners from a local Braavosi place he’s heard of but never tired. She ducks in herself when he’s finished and by the time she comes back out, the food has arrived and they crowd into the breakfast nook in the far corner of her kitchen. 

“So,” he begins after a bit. “How have you been doing?” 

She hesitates. “Okay.” she finally tells him. “I’m not sure if it’s totally hit me yet. That someone tried to kill me because of this. I mean, there’s been a nightmare or two but I haven’t really reacted all that strongly to it.” 

“That doesn’t necessarily mean you will.” he says. “Lots of people can just let things like that go. It might not be healthy, but you can’t really help how you react to something.” 

She hums. “How about you? Jon said you guys are still investigating.”

“Yeah,” he replies, poking at the food in his carton. “We’ve spent the last three weeks going through everything in her house, trying to interview her, looking for her brother. It’s… never ending. This is definitely one of those cases that sticks with you for a long time.” 

“Can I ask about it, the case? I mean, can you talk about it?” she asks.

“More or less. I mean you are involved. What do you want to know?” 

She shrugs. “I don’t know, everything I guess. Has she said anything?” 

“She’s said a lot actually. We can’t get her to stop talking.” he explains. “The DA just goes in with a recorder and let’s her talk until she decides to stop.” 

“What has she been saying?” 

“She’s been switching back and forth between ranting about her beliefs and lucidly answering questions. I don’t know if she thinks she can convert us if she talks enough, or she’s hoping someone out there will hear what she’s saying and take up the mantle.” he shakes his head. “It’s hard enough to think about another person already out there doing this, but to think someone else might agree with her and start themselves is terrifying.” he sighs. “I mean, I hate to say this, but she seems so unstable compared to what I’ve heard about her brother or her father. There’s all this evidence that says she’s slowly deteriorated mentally over the years and it’s probably what contributed to her deviating from the original goals.” 

“She deviated?” Arya asks. “How?” 

“Well, I’m sure you noticed that all of her victims look similar.” 

“Sure, don’t most serial killers target people that look alike, though?” 

“Normal serial killers sure, but she’s not normal. She’s killing due to a belief system which makes her victims less predictable. Other members of the cult and even her brother seemed to choose victims based on a check list of ideas that each person needed to score off perfectly. Regardless of gender or appearance, if they met the criteria of this belief system, they were considered to be corrupt and needed to be stopped. But Hagen… She added appearance to her checklist and suddenly she was only killing white women with dark hair and light eyes who worked late nights.” 

“Do you think it has something to do with her brother disappearing?” 

“Honestly, I think it has everything to do with it, but she won’t talk about him so I can’t prove it beyond what I can see for myself. The last person they killed together, Silpha Denbrooke fits the description of all of Hagen’s recent victims. I’d bet money on that being a sticking point with her.” he continues. “She talks in her journals about how he started acting strangely after they killed Silpha, so it begs the question what she thought the reason was for that.” 

“And what about her brother?” Arya questions. “Obviously no one has found him yet, but is there any hope anyone will?” 

“This case has gotten international attention. His picture is everywhere. I think if he’s out there we’ll find him. If he’s still hunting, he won’t be able to do so with impunity anymore.” 

“Here’s hoping.” 

xXx

_**One month later** _

“Is there something here right now?” Gendry asks randomly. He’s been slowly chipping away at the old, dirty carpet on the sun porch at the back of the house and there’s been a persistent black shape in the corner of his eye since he started that morning. Arya turns from where she’s peeling paint of off the baseboards and with her voice muffled by the filter mask says;

“Not that I can see, why?” 

“I swear to the seven I keep seeing a black spot out of the corner of my eye.” he tells her. 

“That’s probably just one of the resident shadows.” She says it so casually and despite all the time Gendry’s spent with her over the last month, he can’t say he’s anymore used to the idea that this is just so normal for her. 

“Resident shadows?” 

“Yeah, there’s a few of them in the house. Don’t know why though. I’m hoping when I open up the attic or that storage room in the basement I’ll find something that will tell me who they are or why they’ve stuck around.” 

“So they’re ghosts then?” 

“Assumedly.” she says. She straightens from her hunch on her knees and stretches out her back. “Sometimes spirits stick around so long that they begin to… lose shape, I guess is the right word for it. The energy that makes them up dissipates to a point that they appear to be nothing but shadows moving around the room rather than full bodied beings. There were quite a few shadows in that field in King’s Landing Park.” 

“That’s… sad actually.” 

She shrugs. “It is, but it’s a fact of death unfortunately.” 

“Can you help them? I mean are they stuck like this?” 

“Sometimes you can. If you can identify them, bring some of their possessions back into focus for them. It’s like…” she pauses, trying to come up with the best way to say what she’s trying to describe. “It’s like a muscle that’s atrophied. Once you get it working, go through physical therapy, most of the time you can use it again. So by figuring out who they used to be, you can remind them and then when they’re more cognizant they can move on.” 

“So basically every time someone sees something out of the corner of their eye, they’re seeing a ghost who's forgotten who they are?” 

“I wouldn't say every time.” she tells him, sounding amused. “Sometimes there is in fact a perfectly bland reason for things.” 

“Good to know.” 

They manage to finish by dinner time, and while Arya is in the shower, Gendry orders take away from his favorite place. As he sits and waits for it to arrive he takes the opportunity to look around the house a bit. Arya’s words play through his mind, and there’s a lingering concern he never thought he’d have cause to feel. He tries to drown the feelings by studying Arya’s life, presented in pictures along the walls of the hallway. 

He recognizes Jon and his family immediately. Jon and Ygritte stand in front of their house over on Drogon Place, each of them holding one of their twin girls, Darcy and Tala. There’s an older man and woman with them in the photo, and it’s not hard to figure out that they’re Jon’s parents, Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. 

He’s never met the other members of her family, but he’s heard enough in passing over the last month working on her house and the ensuing years working with Jon to know a few of them by sight. Another photo is of a beautiful redhead with soft white skin and sharp blue eyes. She sits on a sofa with an equally beautiful brunette woman, both dressed impeccably. There’s a little blonde haired girl in a frilly pink dress sitting between them and an infant cradled in the red head’s arms. He can only assume this is Sansa and her wife Margaery posing with their adopted children. Her other siblings all seem to look like their mother with the exception of one younger boy. Arya and he clearly take after their father. 

Gendry will never admit it outloud, for fear of Arya punching him, but she was an absolutely adorable child. In the only picture of her on the wall from that time period, she’s dressed in a frilly blue dress, her short brown hair in pigtails and she’s scowling at the camera while the little blonde boy standing next to her is dressed in a green suit and smiling widely, his arm around her shoulders. He can only assume the boy is Lommy, a childhood friend she’s mentioned a handful of times. 

“Are you okay?” Arya asks later that evening. The distraction of her family photos went a long way in clearing his mind, but there’s still a lingering feeling of melancholy that he can’t shake, nor, it would seem, hide. 

“Yeah, I just keep thinking about what you said about the shadows.” he tells her. 

She sighs. “Try not to let it get to you. Trust me when I tell you it will eat you alive if you’re not careful.” 

“I know, I just… it’s hard to believe anyone could just forget who they are, almost like they cease to exist.” 

“When I was little I used to stress about this all the time. Everyday I would see shadows and think about the poor soul that faded away. I would barely sleep trying to talk to them, to remind them that they were someone once. It got so bad they had to slip sleeping pills into my dinner so I couldn’t stay awake, because no matter how resolute I was that I was going to sleep that night, the shadows would be there and I would stay up anyway. My great grandmother, also Arya Stark, used to tell me that the trick to dealing with the sad thoughts was to remember that if you can help you should, but if you can’t, you should let it go. Because every failure will feel like your fault and it will eat away at you until there’s nothing left but bad thoughts.” she sighs. “A lot of women in my family have died young because of those dark thoughts.” 

“Does that scare you?” he asks, his voice soft. 

“All the time. It’s why I stopped appreciating my abilities when I was a kid. I didn’t want anything to do with something that kept taking from me. I have always had so little to give, it seemed unfair.” 

The comment is not lost on him. He knows that feeling. The idea that you aren’t wanted, that you don’t have anything to offer the world. For him it had been in the knowledge that his family didn’t want him after his mother’s death, that the man who contributed half his DNA, a man whose name he didn’t even know was so despised by his mother’s family that when she wasn’t around anymore, he wasn’t welcome. He carried that with him for years until he realized his existence was not his fault, and living his life as if it was had only taken away opportunities for happiness. 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what made her feel like that. He could assume it was her ability, it seemed hard to imagine growing up in such a tight knit family as the one Jon described could make her feel like that, but he didn’t want to assume. 

“Do you still feel that way? Do you really still believe you have so little offer?” he asks, and to his own ear, he almost sounds angry. 

“Sometimes.” she doesn’t elaborate and he doesn’t push. They go back to their dinner and when they’re done they clean up the kitchen. 

“Here.” he says, as she walks him to the front door. He holds out a small wrapped package to her. “I know we don’t really know each other, but it is the solstice and I know your family worships the Old Gods.” he rambles a bit. Arya looks surprised, taking the small box and looking it over. 

“You didn’t have to do anything for me.” she replies, clearly taken back by the gesture. 

“I know, but I saw it the other day it just seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

She smiles softly, carefully tearing the paper to reveal a plain brown box underneath. She lifts the lid, pulling a small silver bleeding heart charm on a matching silver chain. “A bleeding heart? My favorite flower, how did you know?” 

“Jon mentioned it in passing a long time ago, I think you were helping the twins plant their own garden or something like that. Anyway, I saw it in the shop window downtown and it was too good to pass up I thought.” 

She thanks him, a hint of a flush on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you, for Sevensmas.” she tells him. 

He brushes it off. “No worries, I haven’t celebrated Sevensmas in over a decade really.” he shrugs. “It stopped meaning anything to me after my mum died.” he says it so casually he surprises even himself. The look of dawning realization on her face is surprising to say the least, but he doesn’t question it, suddenly very keen on leaving whatever inevitable awkwardness that will rise up behind. “So uh, call me if you want anymore help. My schedule will be pretty regular while we get this case ready for trial.”

“Okay.” she replies simply and he turns and walks out. 

-

-

-

-

-

Bonus Scene

Terry watches them with a smile. The anger that consumes her seems placated at the moment, watching these two people form a friendship. It’s sweet, really, watching them fumble around each other at first, and the sheer satisfaction of watching these two people fall in together, one of whom is notorious for his loner status, is hard to describe. It makes her feel like everything will be alright. 

And it will be so long as she has the power to make certain it does. 

They tell her that Arya has chosen to remain mostly ignorant of her abilities and the things that exist beyond the eyes of the living. They tell her that she doesn’t want to take on that pain, that she has convinced herself that by doing so previously, bad things happened. They will not tell Terry if that’s true or not, but they will tell her that Arya is special, and that she is in danger. 

Terry  _ knows  _ that she doesn’t owe anyone anything, that she lived her life to the best of her ability and despite it being cut short, the capturing of her killer is enough, she can rest. But she won’t. Because she  _ feels  _ like she owes Arya everything. That if the very least she can do to return the favor, to thank her for finding them, for freeing them, is to make sure that the things she chooses to close herself off to don’t hurt her, then she will do it. She will hold on to just enough of her emotion to tap into that power and then, when all is said and done, she will move on.


End file.
